My heart intertwined and mangled
with the inner-workings of my organs.
Everything I knew about living became
justified as it was sure to be reality.
Someone, please pinch me.

I loved how, sometimes, there is
nothing that could be done.
On the surface, I accepted the abruptness,
but a fire ignited inside me and a roar
fought my chest and lungs.
What could feel worse than this other
than our own excruciating demise?

So, I pinched myself knowing that
numbness had already dispersed
itself under my skin drawing closer
to my marrow. I would soon feel nothing,
except the actuality my heart's death.

The noon's greygolden meshes make
All night a veil,
The shorelamps in the sleeping lake
Laburnum tendrils trail.

The sly reeds whisper to the night
A name-- her name-
And all my soul is a delight,
A swoon of shame.

His eyes were the sky;
they were blue and wide.
When it rained they turned
gray and stained his irises
for days on end, then once
again his eyes would send
me into a breezy euphoric
cleanse. Once the sky returned
blue, the white flowers bloomed.
We were free from gloom.

A•L•W

The wind spoke to me last night.
He knocked on my window
and said—“let me love you,
Let me carry you to bed,
Lay you down, and caress you.”

He wrapped himself around my warm body,
Whispered in my ear the lyrics to
Old love songs and poetry.
Chills rushed down my spine and to my toes.
Alas, I felt it—the breeze, the peace,
The love he gave me.

I write to survive
and to state what's on my mind.

I do it to stay alive,
and digest what I find

in these forests who revive
me; they show me a sign

to keep going,
to keep pushing

--stay within these versatile lines,
write these words in real time.
Never erase or rewind.

(A.L.W)

Rough ,Wet, Make it hurt
Sore in the morning
No time to flirt
No love, no whispers
Not even a kiss
Like animals, Mechanical
Tasting this
Bruises, teeth marks,
hickeys, thirst
*******, licking, Harder, grinding
The spot, Almost
Screaming, finding
Spasm, tightening
******, blinding

The Vanilla Bean Frappuccino,
who brings chills down my spine every time.
Sweet on the inside, cold-hearted on the outside,
Especially when he leaves me high and dry
in the morning unexpectedly.
He’ll remind me that I’m alive,
And make me feel Zen for a split second,
Then he splits in a second.
Or
The Caramel Macchiato,
Tall with a sophisticated smile
And unrealistically hazel eyes
That read “bello” around his irises.
With a shot of expression—
He’s never afraid to speak how he feels.
But that’s just the Italian in him.
Or
The Pumpkin Spice Latte,
The most popular guy.
He’ll warm me up when I’m cold;
And make me feel like I’m his only one,
He’ll tell me everything I want to hear,
Then he’ll disappear without a sign—
At least until the next year,
Only to continue the same cycle over again.
Or
The Cappuccino,
He’s got a strong mind
like those French roast blends
With a secret soft side.
He speaks with fluidity and is
As charismatic as the rest.
He’s a morning person nonetheless,
And won’t leave me loveless
In the sheets like Mr. Vanilla Bean sometimes does.
Or
The Teavana Chai Tea Latte
He sounds fancy, does he not?
He’s different to say the least,
Layered with many spices,
And from cinnamon trees,
He’s warm-hearted, yet feisty.
Gentle, yet fatuously energetic.
Soft spoken, yet bold,
He doesn’t have to do much
To have me sold to his trance.

Now for me to decide what I want
As more people file in, deliberating the same
Line up as I, but they have more to
Choose from.
Perhaps I should loosen up some, and go
With last one.